


Cold

by thecabinet



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Cold, Cuddle, Dark, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Voyager, thecabinet, warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:18:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecabinet/pseuds/thecabinet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dead of night, Kathryn Janeway seeks a little warmth (Oneshot, open pairing)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is just a quick little nonsense oneshot starring Kathryn Janeway and a male counterpart. I've put the pairing as both J/C and J/P because I couldn't choose whom I was writing about (curse my multi-shipper heart!) 
> 
> So, feel free to view this as either a J/C or a J/P, even if it isn't really a shipping fic. 
> 
> Enjoy!

She comes to his quarters late at night, with nothing but the hum of the engines below assuring her she is still awake. She presses the door chime, secretly hoping he won’t answer, because she’s unsure of what she will do if he does. It takes a few minutes, and she isn’t sure why she still stands at the door, but he eventually comes. He looks at her questioningly, taking in her appearance only for a second, until he steps aside and lets her in. 

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, almost walking straight back out until he steps in front of her a few feet away. When did he replicate coffee? No, that wasn’t coffee. She takes the cup, gingerly holding it with her fingertips. He sits down on the couch. After a moment, she follows him. Instead of taking the empty chair across from him, she sits next to him. This surprises them both, but she feels cold. He has his feet propped on the table, and she curls hers up underneath her. They do not touch, but if she wanted to, she could lean against him. They drink for a while. He seems tired as well, although the data pad and the dim lighting suggest he was still awake to some degree. His similar apparel begs to differ, though. 

She finds she doesn’t particularly care how she looks at that instant. Her robe gapes slightly, revealing a thin nightgown. Her hair falls upon her shoulders. His hair is unruly. He wears track pants, a t shirt. However, she regards his clothes with mild disinterest, focusing instead on the burn in her throat as the alcohol, not synthenol, slides down. 

They are both cold. She places the empty cup on the coffee table, where his already resides, and she leans back, sighing. They still have not spoken, and she suddenly feels the urge to. But the silence had become comfortable, necessary. Also, she doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to engage in meaningless conversation with him, even if she knows that it would be far from it. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her, but as soon as she glances over, he is looking away. 

Her arms feel cold, so she presses against him, leaning into him. He doesn’t react at first, perhaps waiting for her to pull away. After a few moments, he shifts his arm until it wraps around her, softly holding her to his side. Her face rests against his shoulder, and the scent of cinnamon invades her senses. They rest like that for a while, concentrating on the other’s breathing and trying to match their heartbeats. He lets her make the first move, because after all, it was her that came to him. She takes her hand, tracing the outline of his shirt which makes him shiver. She trails it up, until it is pressed against his heart, and she can feel the steady beat. For some reason, this makes her sad.

He feels her press against him, as though she is trying to melt into his form. With her hand on his heart, and his over her shoulder, they sigh internally, in synchronization. The stars stream above them, casting a strange shadow on the far wall. Underneath them, the hum of the engine threatens to lull them, but it is the caressing of his thumb upon the back of her hand that makes her shut her eyes, holding it against his heart. She still feels cold, but not as cold as she did.

It was moments like this that she would remember, or rather hope not to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome!


End file.
